


Good Boy

by myriddin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: Prompt: "Good boy"A king who never asked to be a king with the lives of thousands on his shoulders, and a lady who finds some reassurance in her new power but still feels the pain of having all control brutally wrested away. Some comfort can be taken in one another.





	Good Boy

_B.D. (before Daenerys)_

Jon could have lost himself in the far-away, floaty feeling enveloping him, but his lady was calling to him, and here in these particular chambers, he trusted that he could heed his lady to the absolute, for she would always know what was right for them both within the confines of these walls.

He slowly came back to himself, his back arching into the soft hand stroking up and down the length of his spine. He instinctively turned his head to face her, warmth blooming in his chest as she smiled down at him tenderly. “Come up onto the bed, sweetling.”

He obediently stood up and climbed into the bed. He could feel a lingering ache in his knees and back, despite the pillow his lady had laid out for him to kneel on. But it was a good kind of ache, reminding him how much he’d come to enjoy how the kneeling exercise (on his knees, back straight and head held high) would slowly banish the worries and stresses from his mind as he strove instead to just be good for his lady.

His lady sat beside him, Jon stretching out and resting his head in her lap as she coaxed him to do so. She tilted his head up, bringing a cup to his lips. “Drink slowly, but finish as much as you can.” Once again, Jon obeyed; giving a hum of appreciation as he slowly drained the cup of heated milk, laced with honey.

The milk settled warm and pleasantly heavy in his stomach, the honey sweet on his tongue and giving him some focus from floating away once more. She carded her fingers through his hair, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “There’s my good boy. You did so well, Jon. I’m proud of you.”

Jon flushed at the praise, though a warm pride filled his chest. “Thank you, my lady.”

Outside of these chambers, they may still occasionally disagree and butt heads, they may have still been building on how to communicate with one another, but here they left all those things behind. He wasn’t a king under pressure, just a man starved for attention and comfort, needing to quiet the chaotic stress in his head, and if taking back her control this way helped to ground and soothe Sansa in turn, there was no need to judge themselves for it.

Sansa scratched his scalp gently with her nails and his eyes languidly fell shut, nestling closer to her warmth. “Sleep if you’d like to, Jon. We’ll speak later of what Lord Hornwood did to so incense you.”

++

_A.D. (after Daenerys)_

Jon knew he was being ridiculous, but since he had returned to Winterfell to find a distance between he and Sansa uncomfortably similar to their childhood, he had grown completely and intensely jealous of anyone else she paid attention. What made his reaction even more ridiculous was the fact that the one she was currently lavishing the most attention upon was Ghost.

Despite their distance, Jon was still allowed to sit with her in her solar some evenings, and a couple weeks after he returned, Arya had thawed toward him enough to join them, along with Bran. Sansa scratched between Ghost’s ears and then rubbed his belly after the direwolf panted contently and turned onto his back in a bid for more attention. Jon wasn’t aware of it at the time, but Sansa and Arya would tell her later (though Arya was jeering), he went from shooting envious glances to outright glaring at his furry companion the more Sansa cooed compliments, praised, and fed bits of meat from her stew to him.

A loud sigh from Sansa broke through Jon’s covetous reflections, and he looked up quizzically to see her roll her eyes and gesture to him. “Come here, Jon.”

The firm but gentle tone intimately familiar, and he found himself obeying instantly, half across the room before his conscious mind caught up. He hesitated for just a moment, continuing on as she patted the couch beside her. In mimicry of a position they had been in so many times before, he ended up with his head in her lap. “That’s a good boy,” she said affectionately, her fingers beginning to slowly comb through his hair. He sighed softly, the tension leaking away from his muscles as the breath expelled from his lungs.

A beat later, Arya’s incredulous and outraged, “Sansa, what in the seven hells?!” broke through the air, Jon pointedly not reacting, his body instead going slack as Sansa placed a bit of pressure on his shoulder, indicating he should stay.

Sansa’s voice as she responded to their sister was neither reprimanding nor defensive, but she was firm, clearly and concisely leaving no room for argument. “You’ve asked that we not judge you for your scars, Arya. It’s only right that you do the same.”


End file.
